


Grey Like Grass

by Buckysaur



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Character Development, Color Blind Steve Rogers, Color Blindness, Coping, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Character Death, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Romance, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, corner shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysaur/pseuds/Buckysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve once wanted to be an artist, now he owns a corner shop in the suburbs of New York City. It's not the career he once dreamed of, but it puts food on the table. If only those darn shoplifters would stay away...</p><p>Bucky is a war veteran who had to come back home to take care of his orphaned little sister. But keeping a job while trying to hide your PTSD isn't easy, which makes living an honest life hard.</p><p>Maybe they can fill each other's lives with a little more colour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Your Information: I Make Shitty Life Decisions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyInSoulPunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyInSoulPunk/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the lovely PrettyInSoulPunk! Your comments really keep me going ❤ I hope you enjoy this story!

It’s six in the evening, and his corner store is almost empty. Steve is crouched on the floor in the baked goods area, pricing down the items that had been fresh that morning, but need to be put on clearance now. He’s bored, but the evening shift usually does that to him. There’s always a dip in customers around dinner time, so it’s quiet, but it’s long enough until closing time that it’s still too early to start cleaning the store.

There’s just one guy browsing, and over the tinny sound of the radio Steve can hear the metal studs of his leather jacket hit the wires of his shopping basket as he walks through the store. Steve keeps half an eye on him so he’ll know when to head to the till to check the guy out.

After a few minutes, he spots the guy slipping something into his bag from the corner of his eye. With a heavy sigh, Steve gets to his feet. He walks over to where the guy is standing, puffing up his chest as he crosses his arms. “You’re gonna want to put that back _real_ quick, or pay me for it if you won’t.”

The guy starts and turns around. Loose strands of his long hair, that is mostly tied up in a bun at the back of his head, whip through the air. Wide eyes trail over Steve’s chest up to his face, their light grey colour making him look even paler when all colour in his face visibly drains away at the sight of Steve looming over him.

“I’m sorry— I’ll— I’ll put it back. I’m sorry. Please don’t call the police,” the guy stammers. He reaches into his bag, moving to put the jar he’d taken back on the shelf. Steve can’t help but stare at it, his posture sagging a little.

“You’re stealing _peanut butter_?” he asks, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

The guy lowers his eyes to the floor and shuffles his feet, still holding the jar as he speaks, “I’m not stealing, I’m leaving. I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again.” He moves to put the jar back once more.

“No, wait.” The guy freezes on the spot when he hears the command, his wide eyes rising to meet Steve’s again. Steve gives him a searching look. “Why are you stealing peanut butter?”

“Because my sister is hungry.” His words are clipped, and he’s looking down at the floor before Steve’s feet again, glaring, this time. “Can I go now?”

Steve pauses, assessing the guy. He is surprised by the sharp contrast between the angry set of his jaw and the way his shoulders are hunched over, as if he’s trying to hide. At once, Steve makes a decision. “No,” he says with a firm shake of his head. He nods at the jar of peanut butter. “Give it to me.”

The guy’s eyes flick up to look at him again, narrow and mistrusting. “Why?”

“Give it to me,” Steve repeats, “so I can buy it for you.”

“What?” The guy is staring at him now, brows drawn in apparent confusion. Steve holds his empty hand out patiently, palm up. The guy doesn’t move, though. Instead, the frown turns into an indignant scowl. This time it’s aimed at Steve. “I’m not your charity case. I’ll put it back and then I’ll leave.”

“Not without something to eat for dinner, you’re not,” Steve decides stubbornly. He shifts his hand, holding it out with his thumb up instead of his palm. “What’s your name? I’m Steve.”

The guy eyes him suspiciously, but then slowly reaches out to shake Steve’s hand. “Bucky,” is all he says.

“Do you have a job, Bucky?”

Bucky’s lips tighten, and he visibly swallows. He shakes his head. “Got laid off two months ago,” he says, his voice rough.

Steve winces sympathetically. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the guy has been struggling to stay on his feet – apparently _while_ trying to support a sibling. “Alright. Can you start tomorrow?”

“What?” Bucky’s head whips up, his mouth falling open slightly. Steve tries not to grin at the absolutely baffled expression on his face, but can’t help the corners of his mouth from quirking up. Then, however, Bucky’s expression sours, and he averts his eyes. Steve’s smile fades away. “I already said I don’t need your charity,” Bucky snarls. He pushes the pot of peanut butter into Steve’s hands and turns around.

“It’s not charity, and I’ll dock the peanut butter from your pay,” Steve promises. “I’ve been looking for a new employee for two weeks, ever since I caught one of my part-timers stealing.” He points over his shoulder at the register.

Bucky, his attention visibly piqued, turns back to Steve. He peers at the wall, where the ‘Help Wanted’ poster is hanging behind the till. His eyes widen slightly and he looks back at Steve.

“Why would you hire me?” he asks then, his voice dubious. “If you fired the last guy for stealing, why the hell do you want _me_?”

Steve shrugs. It’s not even a question to him – Bucky was clearly trying to steal to feed his sister, not out of greed. “Can I trust you to write down what you take home from the store, so I can deduct the cost from your pay?” Bucky nods, his eyes wary, and Steve shoots him an encouraging smile. “Well, then you’ve already got better qualifications than the last guy.”

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Steve assures him, handing the peanut butter back. “If you promise to be here tomorrow morning, six AM sharp, you can grab some bread too, it’s on clearance anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow and he studies Steve, who smiles gently as he meets the man’s gaze. “Sure... I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Bucky says after what feels like an eternity. He bites his lip, and then says softly, “Um thanks— I mean— Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Steve assures him. “I’ll show you around before the store opens. If you just wait a moment I’ll fetch a contract for you. You should read it through at home and bring it along tomorrow to sign.” He walks to the counter and rummages through the top drawer for a moment until he finds a standard adult full-time employment contract.

Bucky has wandered after him, so Steve hands him the contract over the counter. “Everything you need to know is in here,” he explains. “My phone number too. Text me if you have questions, and call me if there’s an emergency.”

Steve holds out his hand, and Bucky shakes it with a numb expression on his face that betrays just how out of his depth he must feel, his eyes flitting between Steve’s and the contract in his left hand. Steve guesses the guy is probably in shock from the turn of events just now. “Welcome to the team, Bucky...?”

“Barnes. My name is Bucky Barnes.” His voice is soft, and he is looking up at Steve in a daze. The remnants of a puzzled frown still lightly creasing his forehead.

Steve’s smile softens. “Welcome to the team, Bucky Barnes. I’ll see you tomorrow. Now go bring that food to your sister.”


	2. Knock, Knock. It's Teenage Drama!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes home with his peanut butter and the bread Steve gave him. Becca isn't as pleased as he might have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, we get a look in Bucky's mind... where there are many mysteries yet to unfold ;)

Bucky walks up the stairs in a daze. He still can’t believe what just happened. He got a _job._ From the guy he was trying to shoplift. For the second time since he left the store, he pinches his arm, just to check if he isn’t dreaming.

He doesn’t wake up, however, and the weight from the big jar of peanut butter in his shoulder bag is as steady as it has been for the last fifteen minutes while he was walking home. When he strokes his hand over the outside of his bag, he can hear the paper inside rustling. He’s got an actual contract. For an actual job he’s been offered out of _nowhere_.

He hopes he doesn’t screw it up. There is nothing he needs more in life right now than a steady income. If only he can just _not_ screw this one up...

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, and unlocks his front door. With a smile, he waves at Rebecca. “I’m back, and I have amazing news!” he announces, toeing off his shoes beside the door. He can feel himself grinning widely now, and it feels like the happiest expression he’s had on his face in months.

Rebecca looks up from her laptop, eyebrows raised skeptically. “What?”

Bucky walks over and puts his bag down on the kitchen table, smiling down at his little sister. He is beyond relieved that he gets to bring her good news for once. No 16-year-old deserves to live the way she has while he was unemployed. “I got offered a job at the convenience store! I’m starting tomorrow. The guy even gave me a free loaf of bread as a sign-on bonus.”

“Nice!” Rebecca pulls his bag closer to her. “What else did you get?” she asks even as she zips it open.

“Just bread and peanut butter for now. There’s still some leftover jelly in the fridge.” He walks past to grab it, ruffling her hair as he goes. “So it’s PB&J for tonight, but as soon as I get my first paycheck, I promise I’ll buy some fruit and vegetables.”

Rebecca groans audibly, and Bucky hears twin thumps, one louder than the other, as she dumps the bread and peanut butter onto the table. His bag follows, tossed onto the floor with a dull thud.

Jelly in hand, he turns around to her. She’s glaring at him from her chair. “Peanut butter and jelly? _Again_? You couldn’t have asked the guy at the store for something nicer than stale bread?” She shoves the loaf away. It slides across the table and lands on Bucky’s chair.

Bucky sighs heavily and sets the pot of jelly down on the counter. “Listen, Becks,” he starts, his voice forcibly patient. “I know it’s been tough, but I promise you that this is the last week of us living like this. I’ll get paid for the new job soon, and—”

“And how long until you fuck up and get fired again?!” Rebecca pushes her chair away from the table and advances on Bucky. “I’m so tired of fucking _sandwiches_ , the stuff you give me makes my school lunches look like five-course meals!”

Bucky grits his teeth. “Becca, don’t start. We’ve been over this. I’m trying my best, but until I get paid, this is what we have.”

“Well, your best sucks!” Angrily, she turns on her heel, snaps her laptop shut and grabs her backpack at the door. “I’m going to eat at Kate’s,” she scoffs, “at least she has _parents_ who can put something decent on the table.”

Bucky winces. “Becca!” he calls after her, stepping forward, but he is too late. She’s already stormed away, slamming the door shut in his face. He winces again at the loud bang, his body tensing for a moment as he clamps his eyes shut.

When he is finally able to relax again, he slumps against the door, pressing his forehead against the cool wood. Tears of frustration burn in his eyes. “Fuck...” He thumps his first against the door uselessly, and then again, harder. His hand momentarily stings with the force of it. “Fuck.”

All the happiness he’d felt before has melted away, leaving him empty and cold inside. Fights with Becca always make him feel drained, because although he tries so hard for her, he knows he can’t do enough. He isn’t fit to raise a teenager, a fact that she always makes him painfully aware of.

With a heavy sigh, he pushes himself away from the door and walks back to the table. He picks the dented loaf of bread up from his chair and looks down at it. It looks depressing, and no longer inspires the feeling of hope it initially had, when Steve first gave it to him. Bucky lets it fall back onto the table.

He doesn’t even feel hungry anymore, but he knows he has to eat. He had a nasty stint with malnourishment when he first came back to the States. He simply hadn’t felt hungry for days and had almost stopped eating altogether. The result of that isn’t something he is eager to repeat.

He pours himself a glass of water at the tap and takes that and the jelly back to the table, together with a plate and cutlery. Listlessly, he starts preparing a sandwich. He hates how much he risked to get food – he could have gotten _arrested_ – only for it to be useless because Becca just stormed off. Not that she would enjoy the food very much if she did eat it.

Lost in his thoughts, he accidentally drops the lid of the peanut butter jar. It rolls off the table and onto the floor. When he bends over to retrieve it, his eyes fall on his new contract. It has fallen out of his bag, the pages fanning over the floor underneath the table.

The messy sight of it makes him feel at once hopeful, as well as on the brink of tears. He wants to work. He wants to live an honest life and _pay_ for the food he needs. He doesn’t want to steal, especially from good people like Steve. But he’s also not sure if he deserves the chance, because he knows he will inevitably mess up again.

Except... he has to try. He can’t give up. He needs to take care of his sister, even if it means having to find another job every week. He can’t lose Becca. She’s the last thing he _has_.

He swipes the papers off the floor, and sits up straight in his chair again. He can’t change the past, he can’t fix what’s wrong with him, and he can’t make Becca happy... but he _can_ keep fighting for her.

Determinedly, he takes a big bite of his sandwich and starts reading the contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter I'd very much appreciate it if you left me a comment telling me what you liked :D (Or didn't like, concrit is welcome!)


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